


Was Sorta Hopin' That You'd Stay

by JayJFox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Andrew Minyard Is A Troll, Angst, Because of course Kevin is in ALL MY FICS, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minyard-Josten Rivalry, Neil Josten is a Little Shit, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Prank Wars, Protective Kevin Day, Slow Dancing, Trojan Neil Josten, because why the hell not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 21:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayJFox/pseuds/JayJFox
Summary: Neil and Andrew have HATED each other since an incident in college. They really,reallydo. The Minyard-Josten rivalry is not a sham.But now Andrew's transferring to Neil's team and all hell is about to break loose.Neighbor prank wars. Mutual pining. Banter.What else is there? :)
Relationships: Kevin Day/Jeremy Knox, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 91
Kudos: 165





	1. Simmer down an' pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt

**Author's Note:**

> A little self-indulgent enemies-to-lovers fic.  
> The title is a lyric from the Arctic Monkeys' song "Do I Wanna Know" (and so are the chapter titles in no particular order)  
> Consider that the fic soundtrack. 😁
> 
> Hope you have fun with this fic. I appreciate your comments and ❤.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The sound of Neil’s head slightly banging against his locker echoed through the empty changing room. He registered steps closing in but he didn’t care to look up. 

Why? Why did it have to be him? Of all goalkeepers in all professional teams, why did it have to be Andrew fucking Minyard?

Neil was pretty sure he’d done something horrible in a previous life and this was his punishment. Well, in all honestly, he’d done a lot of horrible things in _this_ life and already gotten enough punishment for ten lifetimes. But Andrew Minyard? Neil must have done something outstandingly heinous to deserve that. 

“Are you still sulking?” Jeremy’s silky voice came from behind Neil’s shoulder. 

“I am not _sulking_.”

“Then what are you doing? Trying to knock yourself out so you don’t have to come to the meeting?”

Neil pressed his head into the locker and turned sideways to look at Jeremy. “Maybe.”

“Coach asked me to come get you. Come on Sulk Face, it’s not like it can get worse than that.”

But Neil knew for a fact that there was always a way for things to fuck up and get worse. 

He worked himself into his definitely-not-a-sulk and followed Jeremy to the conference room. Everyone else was already there. 

“Neil. So kind of you to join us,” Coach Ramirez said. 

“Sorry, Coach,” Neil mumbled. 

“No, you’re not. Sit.”

Neil sighed and sank into the seat Jeremy had saved for him. 

“As I've already announced,” Ramirez stared right at Neil, “Andrew Minyard is joining the team this season. I expect full support from the team for his adjustment period. I’d like to ask you to abstain from any comments about his personal life and the shit that rolls around social media. This is not our business. As you all know the Atlanta Falcons does not take any interest in the players’ personal lives. We’re recruiting him because we need a goalie, and he’s the best.”

Neil heard himself snort before he could stop the sound. Fuck. 

“Anything to add, Josten?”

Neil wasn’t an idiot and, against popular rumors, he did know how to keep his mouth shut. And he was going to. Except, in that particular instance, his mouth worked before his brain did.

“He’s hardly the best goalie.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

“No? Do you know what his stats are?”

Neil swallowed hard. 

“Didn’t think so. Do you know what’s the goal average per season for the top five goalies?” Hernandez raised his hand to stop Neil as he opened his mouth. “No. Don’t answer that, I know you don’t even care about stats. It’s ninety-eight. That’s what, five goals per game? Pretty impressive. Well, Minyard’s number is seventy-four. The Seattle Rebels moved from eleventh in the league to sixth in just two seasons with him in goal. It’s not a coincidence.”

“Fine.” Neil sighed. “So, he’s good. But the guy’s an asshole. At least you should care about the team’s cohesion.”

Ramirez laughed at that. “You’re an asshole, too. Or so I hear.”

Jeremy chuckled next to him. Traitor. 

“Only to the press, Coach,” Jeremy said. 

“Yes. Speaking of the press. We’re doing a press conference about the transfer. In the meantime, _no comment_ the shit out of the assholes. That’s it for now.”

Neil jumped off his seat and headed to the door.

“Not you, Josten.” Ramirez called after him. 

Aghh! What now? Neil took a step back and raised an eyebrow. The Coach waited until everyone left the conference room, shut the door and looked at Neil as if he was about to scold him like a fifth-grader. 

“Tell me this isn’t going to be a problem, Josten.”

“Are you asking me if Minyard will mess up my game?”

Ramirez scoffed. “No. Your mind is too single-laned when it comes to this sport. Nothing can mess up your game. I’m talking about the team’s… _cohesion_. You don’t like each other, I get it. The whole fucking world gets it. There are fucking memes with both of you about this shit. I don’t want you two to fuck up the team’s dynamics with your feud.”

“It’s not going to be a problem.”

It wasn’t going to be a problem because by mid-season, one of them was going to be dead. 

Minyard. It was Minyard. Which was perfect because Neil knew exactly where to bury a body so no one can find it. He blamed his criminal relatives for that.

🖤

Andrew’s Twitter feed was a fucking shit show from the moment the Atlanta Falcons announced his transfer. Not that he had expected anything less than that. 

People didn’t understand why he’d transfer to the team where his arch-nemesis played. And yes, they did call Neil Josten that. Like they were in a fucking YA novel. 

The truth was, Andrew wasn’t thrilled to play with Josten on the same court, to say the least, especially if they weren’t playing _against_ each other. But that was Atlanta. That was close to home. Close to Bee and Wymack, and God, that pain in the ass, Abby. With Kevin’s transfer to the Texas Eagles, and Aaron’s medical residence in Miami, it was the best thing Andrew could do to melt part of the distance between them. 

So screw Seattle. 

And screw Neil Josten. 

He could handle a little antagonism on the court if he got to be closer to the people he cared about. 

The drive from Seattle to Atlanta was agonizingly long. Andrew loved driving, that wasn’t the problem. But after the first day on the road, Kevin started talking about Exy, instead of history and Andrew considered slamming the car into a tree or something just to shut him up. A few times. 

By the second day, he was considering strangling him to death in his sleep in the motel they stayed the night. But then again, how would everyone else suffer the infuriating mess that was Kevin Day if Andrew killed him? No. He couldn’t rob the bastards out there of that… pleasure. 

On the last day on the road, Andrew threatened Kevin that if he talked about Exy again, he was going to put on My Chemical Romance and sing along until Kevin passed out. 

Kevin took the hint. 

No Exy. Just a detailed list of Game of Thrones shit that was based on real historical events. Andrew blocked most of it out. 

Atlanta was nothing like Seattle. It was hot and carried that sweet feeling of familiarity with it, like a favorite song playing behind a closed door. Andrew drove right to the stadium to meet Coach Ramirez and get the key to the apartment he’d found him. One less thing for Andrew to worry about. He’d told the man he didn’t care where the apartment was, as long as it wasn’t in a crowded, noisy place. 

Andrew could use the peace and quiet, especially if he had to deal with that pest Neil Josten. 

_Neil fucking Josten._

Of all the stupid things Andrew had ever done, Neil Josten was one of those he couldn’t forgive himself for. No. Not for hating him, God, no. That the asshole deserved, and more. 

How the feud started between Andrew and Josten was a story he’d altered through the years into something that sounded bearable to him. It was embarrassing really. 

**_This was the story he told people:_ **

Andrew was in his third year with the Foxes. Neil was a sophomore with the Trojans. Jeremy Knox had gushed about him like a lunatic, and, unfortunately, Andrew knew all about it because he shared a dorm with Kevin and Kevin… Well. It was common knowledge even then that Kevin Day couldn’t shut up about the things that excited him. Like Exy. Or history. Or Jeremy Knox. Or Exy _and_ Jeremy Knox. 

It was the first game the Foxes played against the Trojans for the season. The Foxes arrived a day early, the Trojans threw them a little welcome party and even made sure no one was dangerously drunk for the game the next day, the absolute righteous assholes. During the game, Neil Josten slammed his racquet across Andrew’s stomach sending him to the ground. On purpose. He got a red card, which was a first for the Trojans, not that Andrew pitied them. The bastard deserved it. After the game, Andrew confronted the redhead. He really just wanted to know what his fucking problem was. They didn’t end up talking. Or, well, Andrew didn’t end up talking. Neil Josten called him a deranged fucking bastard and punched him in the face, and it was all fists and elbows and kicks after that. 

After that day, it was on. When they both went professional, throwing a punch on the court would cost either of them too much, so instead, they taunted each other on social media and glared in the other’s direction. 

**_This was the story with that little, insignificant bit Andrew conveniently excluded from his official versio_ _n_ _:_ **

The welcome party was in the USC dining hall. Andrew searched the place for the redhead he’d seen earlier outside next to Jeremy Knox. The sun had fallen on his auburn hair turning it into coppery perfection, and his blue eyes reflected light like they were magic. Andrew found him with a can of soda in one hand, and a black marker in the other. He’d drawn a mustache on Jeremy's face, and the latter danced on a chair, tapping his cowboy boots on the flat surface. It was ridiculous. 

Andrew had never been drawn to another person like he was to the redhead. Half an hour later, he’d found himself talking to Neil in a quiet corner. Another half an hour, he’d drained three whiskeys and couldn’t look away from Neil. An hour after that, he’d danced with him. Away from everyone else. Like a little precious secret of his own, somewhere in the corridor between the dining hall and the main building of USC, where the music was quiet and soft and he could hear Neil’s breath hitch when Andrew pressed a hand on the small of his back. He didn’t know how long it lasted. It could’ve been all night for all he knew. Right then, he was lost and found in arctic blue and a redhead boy with a voice sweeter than honey and scars across his faces that hid mysteries and dangers. Andrew wanted to drown himself in all of it. 

And then somewhere between dancing with Neil and wanting Neil, he’d whispered against his lips that he wanted to kiss him and Neil said yes, and Andrew was falling. 

The next day Neil avoided him like the plague, and then the incident on the court happened and nothing ever made sense again. Except, it did, but it took Andrew a few days to come to terms with it. 

He’d got himself fooled. He let himself fall for Neil’s little sweet lies so the redhead could rile him for the game, and when it hadn’t worked, he slammed a racquet at his ribcage. The Trojans won that game. 

After that, he knew three things: Neil was a liar, Neil would go any length to win a game, and Andrew could never forgive himself for letting a stupid college kid fool him. 

The feud was on, and raging and Andrew didn’t intend to put out any fires. That wasn’t what he was here for. 

Andrew left Kevin in the car and headed to the stadium.

He spotted the redhead next to Coach Ramirez immediately after he entered the court. Neil squinted his eyes and looked every bit like he was about to murder Andrew. 

Andrew ignored him. 

“Coach Ramirez,” Andrew said and offered a handshake. 

Ramirez smiled from ear to ear, shook Andrew’s hand and handed over a small envelope, presumably holding the key to Andrew’s new apartment. 

“Minyard, it’s a pleasure to have you on the team. I believe you and Neil Josten already know each other.”

Andrew’s mouth stretched in a shit-eating grin. Neil growled. 

Coach Ramirez cleared his throat. “Neil, you could probably help Andrew navigate. His apartment is in your building.”

“ _What_?”

“What!”

Ah, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“This is unnecessary,” Andrew said barely holding himself from saying something bitter. Not a great look for the first meeting with your new coach. 

“See? He’s fine. I’m sure he has a GPS. Can we talk?” Neil looked like he was about to shake out of his skin. Good. That made two of them. 

“About?” Ramirez cocked his head in a challenge. 

“Coach.”

“Team’s cohesion, remember? Your words, Josten, not mine. Now, why don’t you show Andrew the area, hm? Great. Bye now.”

Ramirez turned on his heel and disappeared down a corridor. 

“Coach,” Neil called after him and Ramirez shrugged him away. 

Great. Now what?

Neil stared at him for two seconds before he walked past him. 

“Keep up. I’m not waiting for you.”

Andrew snorted. Well, shit, this was going to be interesting. 

The building was in a quiet area, five floors, garden in the backyard. Andrew found out Neil’s apartment number immediately. Luckily, they were not on the same floor—Andrew was in 502 on the fifth floor, and Josten was in 304. By some cosmic miracle, at least that Andrew was spared of. 

After Kevin helped him moved his luggage into his new apartment, Andrew was ready to drive to Columbia. 

But before that. _Desperate times call for desperate measures._

On his last trip to his apartment, holding a box of books, Andrew watched Neil drive away in his shit-colored Honda. Upstairs, he put away the last box, dug through his toolbox for a bottle of glue and ushered Kevin outside. 

“Come on. I’ll drive you to Jeremy’s. I’m leaving the key to the apartment so you can come back whenever you want.” Andrew handed out the key to the door.

“Don’t get me wrong, but I have _just_ this weekend here before I fly to Texas and—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t want to look at my face, you want to look at Jeremy’s dick, got it.”

Kevin turned fiery red. “Fuck off.”

Andrew snorted. “As if it isn’t true. Wait a minute. I need to do something.”

Andrew turned the corridor and took the stairs to the third floor. Kevin’s quiet steps followed him. 

“I didn’t say _follow me_ , Kevin.”

“No shit. I know that face. You’re going to do something stupid. I want to make sure it’s not… _very_ stupid.”

“It is. Now go away.”

Andrew checked the numbers on the doors as he walked down the corridor. 

300.

302.




Bingo. He drew the little tube of superglue from his pocket and crouched down in front of Neil’s door. 

“Andrew!”

“Shhhh.”

“Oh, my God! What are you doing?”

“Shhhhhh.” Andrew squeezed the tubed and waited until the entire content soaked through the gaps in the door lock. 

“For fuck’s sake, what are you, ten?”

“Shut. Up.”

Kevin scoffed. “If anyone asks I didn’t see you. I don’t know you. I’m going to wait downstairs when you’re done vandalizing private property.”

“ _Thank_ you. For that.”

Kevin’s footsteps faded. 

Andrew blew into the lock a few times, shoved the tube back in his pocket and headed downstairs. 

If he had to tolerate Josten, the absolute asshole, he was going to do it on his own terms. And right at that moment, his terms included pissing the living hell out of Josten. 

The fucker deserved it.

  
  



	2. Are there some aces up your sleeve?

That stupid motherfucker!

Neil banged his fist against Andrew Minyard’s door in quick succession. It was 11 PM and the only way Neil could get into his apartment was through the window. On the third fucking floor.

Minyard opened the door looking like… oh, shit. The motherfucker had always looked like a goddamn daydream, but now his hair was messy and he had reading glasses on and… Well, screw Minyard and his stupid golden eyes and his dumb freckles and his annoying goddamn face!

“What,” the asshole deadpanned. 

“Do you think this is funny, Minyard?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The fuck you don’t! You superglued my fucking door lock!”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

Neil threw his arms up. “You tweeted about it, moron!”

“Oh, you mean the pretty awesome practical advice for dealing with assholes that I gave my 4.3 million followers?” He smirked. Fuck. “Bold of you to assume you matter  _ that  _ much so I waste my twitter space with shit about you. But good for you that you finally recognized yourself as an asshole. Talk about personal growth.”

“You’re a dick.”

“And you’re annoying. Fuck off.”

Andrew slammed the door in his face. Neil heard him laugh like a goddamn lunatic through his door. 

Fucking hell!

He wasn’t going to leave things like that. Andrew fucking Minyard was never going to have the upper hand on him. 

Neil picked the lock to the supply storage door in the basement, where the building supervisor kept all sorts of useless stuff. He went through everything. Brooms, toolboxes, buckets. Nothing of use. A commercial-grade vacuum cleaner, even more buckets, something that looked suspiciously like a mummified dead rat. N-o-t-h-i-n-g.

And then… Oh. That should work. 

He shut the door and went for a run around the neighborhood. It was well past midnight when he came back and he hoped Minyard was dead asleep. Or dead. He’d take either option. 

The thing about Minyard was that the man was an absolute menace. Cold, ruthless, heartless. He knew that first hand. But Andrew didn’t know shit about who Neil used to be and that was his first mistake. His second mistake was that he thought he’d win a prank war against Neil. Fickle-minded creature. Everyone knew that whenever Neil wrapped his mind around something, he didn’t stop until he made it happen. People called it an extreme case of stubbornness. Like it was a bad thing. 

Neil wasn’t a stupid college kid anymore. Andrew Minyard couldn’t charm him with his detached, brooding Mr Darcy thing going on for him. Not when Neil knew exactly what Andrew thought about him. 

He remembered the day when Andrew Minyard shot himself straight up to the top of Neil’s ‘least favorite people’ list. Which was a special hell of a whiplash considering the night before the blond was solidly climbing the ladder to his  _ favorite  _ people list. 

Neil had been attracted to exactly three people in his life. It had never happened as fast as it had with Andrew fucking Minyard. He didn’t know what it was about the blond that got him weak in the knees an hour of meeting him face to face. There was something honest and deep and a little dark about him. He was like a porcelain cup, shattered and glued together with gold. 

And he’d kissed him. Neil still remembered the taste of that kiss, the fluttery little feeling in his stomach, the itch to bury his fingers through the blond locks and pull closer. 

But he remembered the morning after, too—the stutter in his heart when Brian from the Trojans’ backline told Neil that Andrew bet a few guys he’d fuck Neil by the end of the Foxes stay in California. Because “Neil was desperate and asking for it, and honestly who’d touch the scarred bitch, anyway”.

Neil swallowed at the memory. 

Fuck. Andrew. 

He hated him so much it hurt. 

Neil considered sleeping in his car until he got a new lock but what were friends for? He dialed Jeremy on the way to the parking lot. 

Jeremy picked up on the fourth ring. “Mhey, do you ever sleep?”

Neil propped his phone between his ear and his shoulder and started working. 

“Hey, sorry Jer. I got locked out. Can I sleep at your place?”

_ Riiip. _

“Sure. Yeah. Just a heads up. I got a friend over.”

_ Riiip. _

“Oh. If it’s not okay, I can sleep in my car, Jer, it’s fine really.”

“No! No, Neil. It’s okay. Seriously. You can take the guest room. Just… don’t bite Kevin’s head off, okay?”

_ Riiip. _

“Hey, it’s not his fault he has terrible taste in friends.”

Jeremy cleared his throat. 

Neil laughed. “Obviously, I don’t mean you, Jer. I mean Minyard. You’re the only reason I’m letting him off the hook.”

Jeremy laughed indulgently. “I’m flattered. Just come over. Kevin makes killer breakfast omelets.” 

_ Riiip. _

“Thanks, Jer! Just wrapping something up, and I’ll be right there.”

_ Riiip. _

“Neil.”

“Mhm?”

_ Riiip. _

“What are you doing?”

“I told you, wrapping something up.”

Jeremy coughed nervously. “Something.”

“Yeah. With stretch wrap.”

“Neil. It’s after midnight.”

“I  _ know _ ! This is why I’m doing it now. Everyone’s sleeping.”

There was a voice whispering that wasn't Jeremy's on the other side of the line.  _ “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” _

Wait. Sweetheart? Since when did he and Kevin Day… No. Nevermind. None of his business. 

Jeremy hummed something under his breath and then spoke back to the phone. “Please tell me you’re not getting yourself in trouble.”

“Me? Trouble? Never. Minyard on the other hand…”

_ Riiip. _

“Neil!”

“What?”

“Neil, for God’s sake please tell me you’re not—”

“Jeremy. Jeremy, I can’t hear you. The connection’s breaking off.” Neil rubbed the phone against the stretch wrap, ruffled the foil against the microphone a little, and hung up.

A text message from Jeremy followed immediately. 

**JereBear [00:17]**

_ I know you hung up on me, you menace! Call me if you end up in jail. _

Neil grinned, posed in front of Andrew’s foil-wrapped Maserati and took a selfie. He sent the photo to Jeremy. His reply followed in a second. 

**JereBear [00:20]**

_ JFC  _ 🤦‍♂️

Neil took another selfie so the logo of the car was visible. Andrew Minyard’s Maserati was well-known on social media. He opened instagram, typed a caption “ _ Look what I found in a dumpster outside _ ” and posted it. 

The comments started pouring immediately. 

If Minyard was going to play dirty, then so was Neil. 

Game on, bitch.

🖤

Andrew woke up to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He expected a text from Kevin or Aaron or Renee. 

He did not expect the clusterfuck that flooded his Twitter feed. #Dumpsterati was trending and Andrew’s mind quickly concocted half a dozen scenarios of killing Neil Josten and masking it as an accident. 

He dialed Kevin.

“Did you see what the fucking asshole did to my goddamn car?!” Andrew growled before Kevin got to say ‘hello’. 

“Yup.”

“I will kill him. Then I’ll resurrect him and fucking kill him  _ again _ !”

Kevin laughed. “Too much paranormal fiction? Find reads for grown-ups, Andrew.”

“Fuck off. You’re boring.”

The sound of plates clinking together polluted Kevin’s voice. “For what it's worth, wrecking private property makes him sleep like a baby. Congrats. You’re helping Josten’s wellbeing by… annoying him.”

“What?”

“ _ What _ what?”

“Sleeping like a baby?”

“Oh. He’s here.”

_ “What?!” _

“At… Jeremy’s?”

Andrew's blood felt like liquid fire. “Get his fucking number from Jeremy and send it to me.”

“Andrew, I can’t—”

Andrew hung up. 

No. Fucking no. This was war. 

Andrew jumped off his bed and bolted for the balcony, looking over the parking lot and… there it was. His six-figure goddamn car looking like a fucking Walmart pallet.

He took a few deep breaths. Kevin’s name flashed on his phone screen with a text message containing a phone number. Andrew threw himself on the mattress, saved the contact as a Deranged Fucktart and sent a text. 

**To: Deranged Fucktart [8:13]**

_ I will kill you. _

**Deranged Fucktart [8:17]**

_who is this?_

**To: Deranged Fucktart [8:19]**

_ You can’t be that stupid. _

**Deranged Fucktart [8:21]**

_ You do realize I can use that as proof in a court, right? _

**To: Deranged Fucktart [8:22]**

_ Not if you’re dead. _

**Deranged Fucktart [8:23]**

_ Fuck off _

Oh, the little shit thought it would be over with just a ‘fuck off”? Andrew was just starting. Neil had got to give up at one point. Andrew just had to push him a little. 

So. 

_ Tuesday _

Andrew quickly figured out there was a flock of pigeons living around the building. Honestly, this one was Neil’s fault. He _consciously_ and _willingly_ had bought himself a  _ shit _ -colored car. What was Andrew supposed to do when the fucktart was practically shoving the idea in his face? 

The only problem was that the pigeon flock was too well-behaved. Andrew forced himself into a small talk with a bird-owner who sold him a bag of bird food that was ‘perfect to lure in pigeons’. His words. Andrew waited until Neil was home—luckily, the redhead’s apartment didn’t have a view to the parking lot—and spent the next three hours throwing pigeon food over Neil’s car. 

It was worth it. In the end, the asshole’s car was covered in bird shit. 

Ah, sweet irony. 

Andrew snapped a shot of the car and typed out a caption on his new Instagram post. 

_ ‘What can I say, it’s raining shit in Atlanta.’ _

Aaand post.

_ Wednesday _

Andrew was fucking tired. Adjusting to a new team was exhausting, and, even though he wasn’t going to admit that aloud, he missed Kevin. He’d grown too attached to his presence in the same city, the same team, the same apartment building. When Kevin had left after the weekend, the whole place felt empty.

He just wanted to lie down and stare at the ceiling until his mind blanked out. He’d made a point to leave a few minutes earlier so he could be in the building before Neil. 

He parked and practically bolted for the door when he saw Neil’s car approaching. Funnily enough, they didn’t have any issues on the court. Josten was absolutely brilliant, and yes, it tasted like poison to say that, but Andrew wasn’t one to dwell in delusions. 

Outside of the court was a different story. It was all spiteful comments and Neil’s infuriating snark. 

Andrew quickly unlocked his mailbox to grab his mail and… 

A quiet click was all the warning he got before green paint splattered all over him. 

Neil’s manic laughter behind him was the last thing he needed right at that moment. He turned to glare at him. 

_Click_. 

Correction: Neil fucking Josten taking a picture of him covered in paint was the last thing he needed.

Friday

Andrew couldn’t breathe. His hands were shaking. 

Fuck. That.  _ Let’s see how much  _ you  _ like paint, asshole! _

A teeny-tiny, insignificant fear of heights wasn’t going to fuck up Andrew's revenge move. He had the climbing equipment tightly secured around himself and was currently hanging from three-story height with a can of black paint in one hand and a brush in the other. 

His hands trembled. Shit. He wasn’t going to fall. He wasn’t going to fall. 

His toes balanced on the window sill outside of Neil's bedroom. Andrew looked through the window. The redhead was fast asleep. His face in the faint moonlight sneaking through the window was like an oil painting. Serene and soft and beautiful. 

No. Fuck no. Evil could not be beautiful. Fuck that!

Andrew dipped the brush in the can and started painting over Neil’s bedroom window. He made a mental note to himself to take a picture in the morning and caption it ‘Told you he was a vampire’. That would be fun. 

Sunday 

It was 8 PM and Andrew was planning to dig in a pint of ice cream and do absolutely nothing like a normal person on a Sunday night. 

He crossed his living room and headed to the fridge and right before he stepped in the kitchen, a shriek escaped his throat like he was a goddamn teenage girl in distress. 

The giant _living_ lizard staring at him from his kitchen floor did not appreciate it.

Tuesday

Bang. Bang. Bang. The sound boomed through his apartment, scaring the fluffy orange creature in his lap. 

Andrew opened the door with the most shit-eating grin he could muster. Neil’s face was murderous. 

“Give me my cat back, or I swear I will kill you right now and have my fucking criminal relatives make your body disappear.”

Andrew leaned against the door frame, not moving a muscle on his face. He knew about Neil’s past. Everyone did. But hearing him say it was a different story. A little thrill traveled through his stomach. 

“Cat? I have no idea what cat you could be referring to.”

The cat meowed from inside as if on cue. Neil’s eyes grew wide. 

“Now," he hissed.

Andrew snorted. Alright, the redhead looked like he was about to murder him  _ and  _ have a heart attack. Maybe the cat kidnapping was a little over the line. He went inside, picked the orange fluff up and presented it to Neil. 

Neil grabbed the animal and squeezed it tightly to his chest. 

“Touch her again and you’re dead. Fucking lunatic!”

Andrew made a point of cracking the most menacing laugh he was capable of. 

Neil took the corridor to the stairs instead of heading to the elevator and talked to the cat on the way. 

“Let’s give you a bath and wash up all the filth from the bastard’s _filthy_ paws on you.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. 

Idiot.

🖤

Neil lay on Jeremy’s couch. It had been four days without another idiotic prank. Technically, it was his turn in the game, but after Minyard took King Fluffkins, Neil had a mild panic attack about it and he wasn’t ready to delve into the details of his revenge. He just knew when it came, it had to be fucking epic. 

After that incident, practices had become unbearable. Neil was losing his composure, and he knew it, but there was nothing he could do when the mere sight of Andrew’s stupid face pushed him over the edge. 

Yesterday’s practice resulted in a few bruises on Neil’s ribs and a ten-minute argument with Minyard which looked more like a brawl except with a lot of yelling, instead of punches. Neil preferred the punches. 

Jeremy sat across from him typing on his phone and spared an occasional look at Neil as he watched last night’s Exy game. 

“So,” Jeremy looked up from his phone. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope,” Neil said with a loud pop at the ‘p’.

“Come on, Neil. If you bottle shit up, everything will blow up in your face when you least want it to.”

Neil sat up straight. “He. Stole. My. Cat. What is there to discuss? He’s a fucking psychopath. Who does that?”

Jeremy chuckled. “Umm… You put a lizard in his apartment.”

Neil growled. “Hey! Whose side are you on?”

Jeremy’s chuckles turn into low, guttural laughs. “Yours. Always. I’m just saying this shit is getting out of control. Kevin is worried.”

“He’s not worried about  _ me  _ so… not my problem.” Neil folded his knees to his chest and propped his head over them. “I really hope Kevin and Minyard being friends is some cosmic misunderstanding or, I don’t know, college thing, and it isn’t because they’re alike. Because, honestly, if that’s the case, you can do better.”

Jeremy’s face flushed a little. “He’s not like… I know Kevin. And I know you avoid him like the plague because of that one time he lost his shit when he saw you for the first time after the stuff about your past leaked out, but he’s good. You just need time to warm to people. You thought I was crazy when we met, remember?”

“You are.”

Jeremy grabbed a tangerine from the fruit platter on the table and threw it at Neil. 

Neil had never thought Jeremy was crazy—he had thought he was constantly on crack and faking everything before he got to know him. Who the hell was really  _ that  _ positive? Jeremy Knox. That was who. 

Neil’s phone buzzed, jolting him out of his thoughts. 

It was a text from Ramirez. 

**Coach [22:32]**

_ Tomorrow, 9 AM in my office. I already called your PR. _

What the hell did Neil do now?

🖤

Andrew stared at his phone, half-asleep and blinking through the haze. 

**Ramirez [22:32]**

_ Tomorrow, 9 AM in my office. I already called your PR. _

What the fuck was this about? If this was some Neil-related bullshit, Andrew swore he’d break into the redhead’s apartment and replace his shampoo with toothpaste.

Too juvenile? Who the fuck cared? There were no rules in war. Even a prank one.

  
  
  



	3. Have you no idea that you're in deep?

When Andrew walked into Ramirez’s office and saw a particular redhead sulking in one of the chairs, he knew what this was all about. It was just the three of them. 

Andrew slumped into the chair farthest from Josten and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Coach. I assume you didn’t call me here merely for the delight of my presence,” Andrew said. 

Josten snorted. 

“Hilarious. Both of you. I spoke with both of your PRs but before I get to that… Do you realize that you’re fucking adults?”

Great. College or pro, nothing had changed, it seemed. Not if Andrew was _still_ being scolded like a child even in his mid-twenties. 

He stole a quick look at Neil. He could swear the redhead _pouted_. The little shit was doing it on purpose. He couldn’t _not_ know how he looked with his gorgeously pink lip pushed out just a little. Andrew couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch him or kiss that goddamn lip.

Ahhhh! No. Shit, he needed to call Bee. He was obviously losing his mental faculties. _Obviously_. 

“Josten.” Ramirez jolted him out of his thoughts. “You said this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It isn’t.”

“No?” Ramirez threw a bunch of papers on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “So you’re telling me that I didn’t wake up this morning with a call from the managers telling me to dig into social media because you two were out of control? You’re telling me those,” he gestures at the papers, “are not posts of Minyard’s car, wrapped in stretch foil, and Minyard covered in green fucking paint?” He looked at Andrew. Oh, shit. “Or Josten’s car covered in bird shit and his windows painted black. On the outside! And a very disturbing tweet about a fucking cat kidnapping?”

“He started it,” Neil hissed.

“'He started it',” Andrew mimicked in a whiny voice. “What are you, five?”

“None of this would’ve happened if you weren’t a cosmic _dick_ and didn’t _superglue_ my goddamn door lock!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d have found a way to annoy me to the point of punching your teeth inside your head.”

“Riiiight. Because that’s how you solve problems. Punching people in the faces!” Neil’s voice was ice-cold.

“It’s better than hitting them with a fucking Exy racquet.”

Ramirez slammed his hand on the desk. “That’s enough! Now, I don’t care about your personal lives. As long as you don’t kill each other and you can play, I don’t give a shit what you do. The fans find this shit entertaining, bless their souls, but management isn’t amused. You’re publicly admitting to destroying and breaking into private property. This is reflecting badly on the team’s image. And for all I can tell, your last practices were painful to watch so don’t you dare tell me this isn’t reflecting on your game, too. So.”

Oh, fuck. Andrew had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that this would end up badly. 

“So what? You want us to shake hands and promise to behave?” Andrew snorted. 

“Like that’s going to happen. No. Tone down whatever that fucking prank war is. At least don’t confess illegal shit on social media. I believe you’re both reasonable enough to manage the bare minimum of decency to _not_ get arrested.”

Neil snorted again and a wave of heat passed through Andrew’s head. He wanted to punch the little shit so bad.

“I don’t know, he apparently has made a hobby of being arrested.”

Andrew shot a deadly glare at Neil. “You want to talk about who’s got higher criminal inclinations? Really? With _your_ background?”

“At least I never got arrested,” Neil mumbled. 

“Proud of you,” Andrew deadpanned. 

“Are you done?” Ramirez said. Silence. “Good. Your PR and I decided on a strategy to tone this shit down. So, you stop with the borderline illegal pranks, or at least stop posting about them for the love of God. _And_ you’re doing two public appearances on events of your PR’s choosing. Together.”

“Are you serious?!” Neil almost whined. 

“No,” Andrew said. 

“Did I ask for feedback on this? No. _Yes Coach_ is all I want to hear. You’re not fucking the team’s dynamic with your stupid college feud. If this doesn’t work and you still can’t leave your antagonism out of my court, I’ll put you in mutual therapy.”

Andrew all but growled. He shot up from his seat, mumbled something that resembled ‘yes, coach’, and bolted out of the room. 

🖤

Two events. Neil could survive two stupid events with Andrew Minyard in the vicinity. He’d survived much worse. 

The first event was set two weeks later. An All-Star charity game raising money for some fancy new children’s hospital in Jacksonville. 

Neil didn’t think it was that bad until he received a whole list of instructions from his PR. There were to be no incidents on the court, outside of the court, or downright atrocious posts on social media. Neil and Andrew were supposed to be attached at the hip. The PRs had even booked one apartment for both of them. At least, they had the decency to book a two-bedroom apartment.

It was a two-day event: a pre-game practice day (as if anyone needed practice for a charity), the game day, and a cocktail night after the game. Neil could do this. He would just ignore Minyard and everything would go smoothly. 

_There would be no incidents._

_There would be no incidents._

Neil repeated it in his head. 

He was sure of it. 

Until the cracks started appearing.

The first crack in his ignore-Andrew-Minyard plan happened during practice the first day. Neil had insisted on playing on the team against Andrew. At least that would melt some of his frustration about spending two entire days in the blond’s presence. 

An hour in, he’d scored against Andrew for the fifth time and he couldn’t stop the wide grin stretching his face. The sixth goal came from a combination that Neil pulled right out of his Trojans days. He wished Jeremy would be here to see it. He’d feel nostalgic, too. 

Andrew sneered. “Still playing college combinations, Josten? Ever heard of skill growth?”

Andrew couldn’t possibly remember this combination. It had been years. “Oh, fuck off. Like you know the Trojans combinations.”

Andrew took two steps forward and laughed. “That one I remember. You slammed a racquet at my ribcage about a minute after it. Remember _that_?”

“It’s the least you deserved. Dick.”

Andrew lost it. Neil had never seen the blond lose his temper, not like that. He didn’t think he could. But Andrew threw his racquet on the ground, stepped closer and pinned a finger against Neil’s chest. 

“I don’t care what problems you have with me, but I suggest you shove them up your ass and get the fuck off my face.”

“Or what, you’re going to steal my cat again?” Neil snorted just to watch the color rise higher in Andrew’s cheeks. 

Andrew took off his helmet and left the court without another word. 

In the hotel, Andrew took a shower and fled the apartment. Kevin Day was here so it made sense Andrew would be somewhere with him. It was a blessing in all honesty. Neil could finally breathe. The drama was all over. Or so he thought. 

_3 AM_

The hotel phone in his bedroom rang. What the ever-loving fuck was that for? Neil jumped off scanning the room for the dreaded thing. He dragged himself to the corner table and picked up. 

“Good morning, Mr Josten, this is your requested 3 AM wake-up call. Would you like a follow-up call?”

What the… “My what?”

“Wake-up call, Sir.”

That fucking asshole! “Umm, no, thank you. That’s fine.”

“Have a good day, Sir.” The line went silent. 

Neil's blood roared in his ears. He bolted for Andrew’s door and slammed his fist until the blond popped up with a wide pleased smile on his face. 

“You’re a fucking imbecile, Minyard!”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Andrew said. And shit, shit, shit, Neil hated him so much, and yet, the sleepy, soft voice sent a little pulse down his spine. 

“You need help. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t wake you up for that? I don’t see how this is worth the effort.”

“Oh, it’s very much worth the effort.” Andrew slammed the door in his face. 

_9 PM_

Neil sat on the bathroom floor with the dismantled showerhead in one hand, a screwdriver in the other, and his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. 

“I don’t know, Jer. He drives me nuts! This was a bad idea.”

“Calm down, Neil. You can deal with Minyard. I know you can. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Neil sighed. “Is putting paint in the showerhead stupid?”

“Neil!” Jeremy shrieked. 

“What? He started it!” Neil shoved the blue dye cubes in the showerhead and started screwing it back together. “In your face evil Smurf,” Neil mumbled. 

“Neil,” Jeremy started. 

“Can’t I just… kill him... _a little bit?_ ”

Jeremy sighed. “No. Why do you hate each other so much anyway?”

“We just do.”

“There’s no such thing. I know you liked him enough to kiss him back in college so what happened?"

"Jer. No."

"Okay. You don’t have to tell me but maybe you should talk to him about it.”

Neil laughed at that. Good-hearted, sweet Jeremy. It never crossed his mind that some people were just downright vicious and no talking was ever going to change that. 

“I’d rather eat a bucket of sugar, thanks.”

“That… doesn’t sound very agonizing.”

“It is. You know how much I hate sugar.”

Jeremy laughed. “Okay. Please. Please, Neil, don’t turn this into another war.”

“Mhm.” It already was one. It had never stopped. That whole media charade was a mere moment of ceasefire before the next round. 

“Okay, call me anytime. Give Kevin a kiss from me.”

“I will do no such thing, thanks.”

Jeremy hung up in the middle of a laugh. 

10:30 AM

Andrew bust the door to Neil’s bedroom open, half-naked and holding a white towel, now soaked blue. Neil burst a loud laugh. 

It was water-based dye and disappointedly none of it remained in Andrew’s hair, at least not enough to give him _actual_ blue hair. That would be fun. 

“I will murder you in your sleep,” Andrew hissed. 

“Are you going to schedule a wake-up call for it, too?”

Andrew stormed out of the room. Neil rolled on his stomach and laughed into the pillow until tears soaked into the soft fabric. 

8 PM

The game went on without any incidents. In all honesty, Neil deserved a goddamn medal for the level of restraint he showed. He got out of the car in front of the cocktail-night venue, and reporters immediately blasted a dozen cameras at his face. Luckily, Andrew wasn’t with him. He got his own car because he refused to fly and drove here like the total lunatic he was. 

The reporters shot questions at him and Neil ignored them all as he walked toward the gate. He hated those events. Reporters, cameras, suits and pretend smiles. It was all fake and had nothing to do with Exy. It was like a movie award ceremony. 

_“Does your and Andrew Minyard coming to the charity together mean the feud is over?_

_“Neil, Neil, you play_ against _him even on a charity event, does that mean you’d rather not have him on your team?”_

_“Are you going to transfer?”_

_“Is Andrew Minyard going to transfer?”_

_“Should we expect a drop in your game now that your rival is on your court?”_

Fuck them.

Neil hardly made it half-way to the door when he heard a question that boiled his blood. 

“Are Minayrd’s criminal past and violence inclinations connected to your feud?”

Neil stopped dead in his tracks. “I’m sorry what?”

“I mean, with Minyard’s history with juvie and his criminal record, and given your own past, the fact that he lashes out on you specifically cannot be a coincidence. Not a lot of people can handle his alleged aggression tendencies, but you must be used to dealing with such hostility.”

Neil almost considered punching the piece of shit in the face. The cameras were on him and he knew what he said now would cause a storm (in which direction, he wasn't sure), but he didn’t care. 

“Is your idea of journalism blatant fabrications of idiotic psychology theories? Andrew Minyard is my teammate and his past, whatever aspects it involves, has nothing to do with any differences we might have on and off the court. In fact, it is none of my business and it shouldn’t be any of yours either. I guess you don't care about fact-checking when you fabricate bullshit like this, but he hasn't been _violent_ with any of the Falcons players so I really don't know what the fuck _violent tendencies_ you're talking about. He’s a brilliant goalie and this is all that should matter. This is all that matters for the Falcons. If you can’t keep up with the present news and need to dig in people’s past to make a news piece, you should probably consider resigning cause you’re shit at your job. Did you see our first game for the season last week? You should. Also, check out Minyard’s stats. Maybe you’d find enough material to concoct a half-decent piece for your... whatever shit media you’re with.”

And with that Neil left them behind. 

He walked in and stopped to take a breath. Fuck, did he just defend Andrew Minyard in front of cameras? He hoped to God none of this was live. Fuck, he hoped to God Minyard would _never see this._

🖤

00:30 AM

Andrew was drunk. Brian Walsh, a backliner who played for the Chicago Lions, and formerly the Trojans, had his arm thrown over Neil's shoulders. Andrew remembered him from that first game Neil and he played against each other. Back then, the backliner had talked about Neil practically drooling. Andrew remembered Walsh had warned him off Neil because he was 'dangerous', which honestly just piqued his interest. Walsh had the exact same expression now as he did years ago when he watched Neil. Neil, on the other hand… Andrew knew how Neil's face looked like before he was kissed, when he _wanted_ to be kissed. Whatever the reasons Neil had kissed him for, that look on his face back then wasn't fake. And it was nothing like that right now. 

Neil looked up and for a long unnerving moment, their eyes stayed locked into each other. God, why did the asshole have to be so goddamn beautiful? He hated him for that, too.

Andrew was determined to drink himself under the table today. He needed to take his mind off Neil's idiotic antagonism and the stupid blue dye in the shower and how much he wanted to punch that smug smile off his face, or break Brian Walsh's arm that pulled Neil closer. Shit.

2 AM

The place looked bigger now that most of the people had left. Andrew couldn't see straight. He'd thought he was drunk before but now he was _drunk_ drunk. Incredibly so. 

Kevin had left an hour earlier and Andrew had nothing better to do than steal drunken looks at Neil where he was sitting with Walsh laughing indulgently at whatever the bastard was saying. Every now and then Neil looked up and Andrew's heart made a little stutter in his chest. God, how much did he hate the redhead pain in the ass to feel like that? 

Andrew really _really_ hated the goddamn sassy idiot. 

He hated him when he swilled down another couple of whiskeys. 

He hated him when he found Thomas Riley from the Minnesota Bears and offered him a drink. 

He hated him when Riley dragged Andrew to dance. 

He hated him when he looked over Riley’s shoulder to catch Neil’s icy blue gaze. 

Andrew hated him even more when he pushed Riley against a wall later and kissed him stupid and imagined red curls instead of Riley’s boring black, and a soft, honey-sweet voice in his ear, instead of Riley’s low rasp. 

And maybe now, just once, just because his blood had probably turned into alcohol, he could say to himself that hatred for Neil was all he had because he wasn't allowed to have anything else. 


	4. There's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry? But like... very little. 😂

When Kevin sent the video with Neil’s little speech in front of the cocktail-night venue, Andrew had already watched it at least fifteen times. _SavageJosten_ trended for the next three days. The youtube video was linked _everywhere_ . Buzzfeed’s _Josten Chews Out A Reporter_ was retweeted 750K times. 

Andrew couldn’t decide how he felt about it. Mostly, he was pissed out of his mind. The little shit had no right to talk about him like that. Andrew didn’t need anyone to defend him, not in front of shitty reporters. And still, he replayed those three seconds where Neil called him brilliant until his head hurt. Fuck. 

Andrew had to deal with this before he lost his mind, and apparently _dealing with it_ meant glaring at Neil and not letting a single shot from him pass through the goal. 

That should teach the little shit to keep his goddamn mouth shut. 

Only it didn’t. 

Andrew blocked all Neil’s shots on the court, which only riled up the redhead. Not that he wasn’t enjoying the view, but this led to a whole new assortment of problems. 

For example:

On Tuesday, Neil found Andrew’s internet cable and cut it off. 

On Wednesday, Andrew registered Neil’s phone number with ten cold-calling promotional companies. 

On Friday, Neil sneaked into Andrew’s apartment and glued his bathroom door to the door frame. 

On Monday, Andrew sneaked into Neil’s apartment and poured red powder dye in his washing machine. 

On Wednesday, Neil put _Just Married_ stickers on Andrew’s car and uploaded pictures on Instagram. That one was particularly annoying since his phone flooded with congratulatory texts and one from Aaron saying ‘ _Are you fucking kidding me rn????_ ’. 

On Friday, Andrew put a fake arm under the tires of Neil’s car and posted pictures online. Neil had banged on his door and thrown the arm at him the second he opened it.

On Sunday, he got a message from Ramirez:

**Ramirez [20:23]**

_9 AM in my office. You’re both imbeciles!_

Whatever. Neil’s aggravated face was worth a little scolding. 

The scolding was followed by a week of silence. Honestly, Andrew preferred the state of war to silence. 

The Falcons played a home game against the Minnesota Bears at the end of the week. It was a mediocre game, but the more Neil and Jeremy scored, the more aggressive the Bears grew. 

Thirty minutes before the end of the game, Andrew watched one of the Bears’ backliners slam Neil into the plexiglass wall. The sound of the clash resonated through his bone. He couldn’t move for a long excruciating minute until Jeremy helped Neil stand up and walked him out of the court. Neil held his shoulder and Andrew could tell even from the goal that there was something wrong with it. Probably dislocated. 

He barely focused for the rest of the game. 

The Falcons won 8:5.

After the game, Jeremy rushed to the showers, ignoring the press talk. Andrew was barely out of the shower when Ramirez walked in. 

“Minyard. My office.” 

Ramirez dug through Neil’s locker, picked a clean set of clothes and turned on his heel to leave.

“Wait, wait, wait! Where’s Neil? How is he?” Jeremy said, pulling a shirt on. 

“Doctor’s room. Dislocated shoulder. Not his dominant hand so he’ll be fine. But he’s high on meds. Someone needs to drive him home.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be right there.”

Ramirez tsked. “Nope. Minyard will drive him.”

Jeremy snorted. “Into a wall probably.”

Andrew appreciated the retort because… well, it wasn’t a lie. “Yeah. Cap Sunshine is right. I’m not driving him.”

“You are. You live in the same building.”

“Coach, seriously, that’s a horrible plan. You know that they both—”

“Call it a bonding activity.” Ramirez headed to the door and threw a look back before he left. “Minyard. Office. Now.”

Well, fuck. 

Jeremy crossed his arms in front of his chest and squinted his eyes. “Do I need to follow you to your place to check if you kill him?”

Andrew laughed. “If I wanted to kill him I would’ve done it by now.”

Outside of the stadium, Ramirez led Neil to Andrew’s car. Andrew could hear the redhead ramble the second they were out the door. He waited by his car and watched from a distance. Neil leaned against Ramirez with his good arm, the other one was secured in a sling.

“Nooo, y’don’t understand, cats are like little puffy clouds. Fur clouds. Where’s Jer? I want Jeremy. He makes soup with the alphabet noodles in it. His boyfriend doesn’t like that, though. He’s a jealous shit. D’you you know why he’s a jealous shit?”

Ramirez ran his free over his face. “For fuck’s sake…”

“I know. Is because Jer doesn’t make _him_ alphabet soup. And he’s like… tall. Tall people are weird. They think I can’t stab them cause I’m short and their necks are high. Like giraffes. D’you know your femoral artery runs through your groin?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Josten, zip it!”

Neil looked like he was about to cry. 

Ramirez looked at Andrew with a plea in his eyes. That’s when Neil saw him. 

“Mnooo. Where’s my car. I need to get my car.”

“Are you fucking serious… I can’t. Minyard, make sure he makes it to his door.”

Neil pulled himself away from Ramirez and almost lost balance. He leaned against the Maserati’s hood. “No. I’m not going with him.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Coach. Come on, Josten, get in the car or I’ll murder your cat.”

Ramirez scoffed. “I don’t want to hear your murder plotting. Don’t kill each other.”

With that Ramirez left Andrew with Neil a complete mess. His eyes teared up and he took a few clumsy steps backward. 

“You’re a dick. I hate you.”

“It’s mutual. Get in the car.”

“I’m walking home.”

“Are you fucking insane? Get in the goddamn car!”

Neil shook his head and turned to go, pressing his palm on the surrounding cars to keep himself from tripping. Fuck. Was Andrew supposed to be a babysitter now?

He opened the passenger door and caught up with Neil. It wasn’t like he made it far. He could barely stand on his own feet. Andrew wrapped an arm around his waist and pushed him toward the Maserati. 

Neil ripped himself away. “Don’t touch me.” His voice shook and something bitter rose to Andrew’s throat. 

“Fine. Walk then.”

Neil made it to the door and just like the idiot he was, he almost slammed his forehead in the car trying to get in. Andrew put his hand over Neil’s head and shoved him in. 

Andrew was hoping for a quiet ride, but half-way to their building, on a red traffic light stop, Neil turned to look at Andrew. His eyes were murderous. 

“If you hurt King, I swear I will kill you.”

“King?”

“My cat.”

The thing was, they threatened to kill each other on the daily but that was just letting the heat off. It wasn’t a real thing. Except, right at that moment, there was something dark and ruthless in Neil’s eyes and Andrew didn’t want to ever see what was behind it. He just nodded and drove home in silence. 

He took the elevator to the third floor, and that’s when it happened for the first time since college. That goddamn itch at his fingertips urging him to run his hand through Neil's hair.

Neil tilted ever so slightly and Andrew pressed his shoulder against Neil’s holding him up. Neil leaned against Andrew. It was all the medications, he knew that, he reminded himself that Neil would never touch him otherwise. But right then, Neil’s head was dangerously close to his neck and Andrew’s breath caught in his throat. And there was a song on the elevator's stereo that stirred Andrew's insides because... Oh. It was _that_ goddamn song that played when he'd kissed Neil back in college. His mind hazed. The point of contact between them was the only thing grounding him. 

Shit. He hated Neil. He _did_. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. 

Neil murmured against his skin in that honeyed voice of his, “I hate you. You’re the worst. I hate you so much.”

And it should sting, and it probably did, but Andrew’s brain forgot how to work and all he could think about was pressing Neil against that wall and kissing him. 

“Yeah, we cleared this up a long time ago, and it’s fucking mutual. If you drool on me I’ll punch you in the face.”

At his apartment door, Neil leaned against the door frame, searching his pockets for his keys with clumsy fingers. When he finally found them, he pressed them into Andrew’s palm. He swayed and now the heat from his body was a solid press against Andrew’s side. His fingers clutched Andrew's shirt at his shoulder gripping tight as if he was angry. But Neil was drugged so out of his mind, Andrew didn’t think he _could_ be angry. 

“I hate you because you kissed me,” Neil whispered against Andrew’s shoulder. “I hate you because you made me… You… Made me like it. Why d'you do it when you hate me? You’re such a fucking asshole. I hate you.”

Andrew couldn’t breathe. That made no fucking sense. None of it. But that wasn’t the time to dig deeper into that one night, which Andrew was apparently not the only one to remember in detail. He unlocked Neil’s door, helped him get in his bed and left. 

Back at his place, he turned the shower to cold and hoped the cold water would freeze his thoughts. It didn’t. Andrew called Thomas Riley. 

~

Three weeks later, Andrew sat on a table with Kevin and Jeremy, which, to make his life miserable, meant Neil, too. It was the fall banquet (in Dallas this year), and Andrew knew exactly three things:

  1. Texas was shit.
  2. He couldn’t stand Brian Walsh. 
  3. He was not nearly drunk enough to endure the sight of Neil dancing with the asshole. 



Walsh had found his way to their table sometime around midnight when half of the people had left and hadn’t moved since. 

Jeremy disappeared to find some special fancy bottle of scotch and Andrew could feel Kevin’s eyes on him. He didn't look away from Neil, who was currently dancing with Walsh. Because, apparently, Andrew was a fucking masochist. 

He’d tried to stop. Earlier that evening he’d found Riley and hooked up with him in the bathroom and, once that was done, he still sat down and stared at Neil for the rest of the night.

“So,” Kevin finally said. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Are you really going to do that? You haven’t stopped staring at him all night.”

“Ah, that. Yeah. I hate him. If you do me a favor and kill him, I’ll stop.”

Kevin snorted. “You’re so full of shit.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth would be nice.”

“We hate each other, that’s the truth.”

Kevin sighed and leaned back in his seat. Andrew poured himself another drink and knocked it back like a shot. Shit. Still not working. 

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just drown that little sting in his chest in whiskey? 

“Okay. I shouldn’t say this but I know something happened between you two. Jeremy told me a while ago. So. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Andrew ran a finger along the rim of his glass. “Interesting. Did he tell you if it was his idea to send Neil to fuck with my head or it was all Neil’s?”

Kevin furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“Oh, so he didn’t _really_ tell you, then.”

“Andrew, what are you talking about? He told me you two hooked up or kissed or whatever, it didn’t go well and this is why you hate each other.”

“‘Didn’t go well’? That’s the words Knox used?” Andrew snorted. “Neil only did that because he wanted to distract me for the game. He’s a fucking junkie when it comes to Exy, almost as much as you, except, he’d do absolutely anything to win. This is what that was about back then. And then you saw what he did on the court.”

“That’s not what Jeremy told me.”

Andrew downed another drink. “Well, Jeremy lied.”

“He didn’t li—”

“Is he dating that dickhead?” Andrew gestured at Neil and Walsh on the dance floor.

“Wow. Subtle.”

“Shut up. Is he?”

“No. They had a thing or whatever in college. The dude’s a little obsessed with Josten if you ask me. But Jeremy said they’re friends.”

Jeremy came back with a bottle, sat next to Kevin and wrapped his arm possessively around his waist. “What’s with the gloomy faces?”

“Nothing. Andrew’s sulking.”

Jeremy laughed. Andrew ignored both of them. He was looking at Neil and Brian Walsh. They weren’t dancing anymore, just standing near a table where Neil talked about something animatedly and Walsh was beaming like a fucking idiot. Andrew hated that guy. 

“...-drew?”

He was too close to Neil. For someone who always kept an arm's length distance, Neil sure was ignoring his own boundaries with Walsh. The only person Andrew had ever seen Neil physically close to was Jeremy Knox. That one time in college with him didn't count. And neither did that in the elevator when Neil was high as a kite. 

“Andrew!” That was Kevin. 

Andrew turned sideways and pinned Jeremy with a pointed look. “What did Neil tell you?”

“What?”

“About that thing in college.”

Jeremy leaned on the table. “He told me what happened, just that.”

“And what exactly was that?”

Jeremy looked baffled. “Are there different versions of it now?”

“Knox.”

“Fine. He said you really hit it off, kissed and then you did something. He wouldn’t say what but he was pretty shaken about it so I’m sure it was shit and you probably remember.”

Andrew watched as Walsh pressed his hand on the side of Neil’s waist and clinked their glasses together. For a heartbeat Neil’s eyes met Andrew’s. So. He was a liar down to his bones, then. 

He’d lied even to Jeremy. Andrew poured himself another drink and decided he’d stop thinking about the little lying piece of shit altogether. 

🖤

Neil left Brian on the dance floor to fill his glass with ginger ale from the cans on the table. Andrew’s eyes burned on him. Neil couldn’t decide if Andrew wanted to punch him or he was staring at the scars. He wanted to wrap himself in a blanket and shield his skin from Andrew’s scrutiny. Why the hell did he stare like that if he hated how Neil looked so much?

He couldn’t make sense of anything when it came to Andrew. He hated the blond, and yet, he’d watched him disappear in the bathroom with his hand on Thomas Riley’s ass and something dark and bitter broke inside his chest like a dam. It choked him and he hated himself, too. 

Now Andrew looked at him with that bored expression, eyes traveling up and down his body and Neil didn’t know what to do with himself. He just wanted it to stop. 

He wanted to peel Andrew off from under his skin and stop feeling like that. 

At the table, he looked at the soda cans and reconsidered his entire situation. Maybe he was doing it wrong. He was too sober to stop his thoughts from racing in one single direction. He poured scotch instead and gulped down the first glass like it was water. Jeremy raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Neil refilled and went back to Brian. 

Brian was safe. Back in college, Brian had slowly made his way in Neil’s close circle, but it still came as a surprise to Neil when Brian walked him home one night and Neil wanted to kiss him. Before that, it had only been Natalie during that one year Neil had gone to an actual high school and Andrew. 

They hadn’t lasted long, Brian and him, and that wasn’t a surprise at all. It was Neil’s fault. What he’d felt with Andrew messed him up good, he knew that. And it was his fault that he’d set his baseline to that feeling. 

Jeremy had said many times before that every relationship was different. People were different. It was okay to feel differently for them. Not everyone you like would light a spark in your chest, he'd said. But Neil couldn’t understand. If he could feel _that_ with Andrew, he should with someone else, too. And why the hell would he want anything less than that? 

Three glasses of whiskey in, Neil’s chest was pleasantly warm, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of Andrew’s gaze on him. It was prickling against his skin. He found himself imagining Andrew’s hand on the small of his back and his lips so close against Neil’s and Andrew whispering so low, like a goddamn prayer, ‘I want to kiss you, can I’. 

Neil swigged the whole glass of whiskey. He pressed Brian closer. Fuck Andrew Minyard. He wasn’t going to think about him. Never again. 

_He hates you. He hates you. He hates you._

_He wanted to fuck you for a bet!_

“Neil,” Brian said. “I’m not complaining, but are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Neil said and dipped his head down against Brian’s shoulder. 

“Okay. You don’t usually drink. I’m worried.”

“I’m fine,” Neil said in a low voice. 

And then the fucking song was on. 

The same goddamn song. 

The room spun. Neil’s heart made a little jump against his ribcage, like a living thing trying to break free. The flashback sparked to life in his head. The same song playing, and Andrew’s hands on Neil, swaying them both together, and then Andrew’s lips on his own, so soft and delicate, and yet hot and wanting and taking Neil apart. 

He looked up and met Andrew's hazel gaze across the hall. 

Neil took a shaky breath. His grip on Brian’s hip tightened. Brian’s scent was different, something sweet and spicy and nothing like Andrew’s earthy, musky aftershave. He dwelled in it. He needed to erase Andrew from his head. 

The stupid song kept pinning needles in Neil’s heart. And so he pressed his lips on the side of Brian’s neck, and hoped the taste of his skin would rip the memory of Andrew’s touch off. 

“Neil,” Brian whispered shakily. 

“Mhm?”

“You’re drunk. I can’t—”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Brian said but he didn’t pull away and so Neil kept dragging his lips along the soft skin below his ear. 

A quiet gasp caught in Brian's throat when Neil put his hand on the back of his head and pulled him in. Brian stopped shy from kissing him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

And he drew back.

“I can’t do this when you’re drunk.”

“It’s not like we’ve never kissed before,” Neil said stupidly. Shit…

“That’s honestly the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me. Come on, let’s get you outside. You need some air.”

Neil sighed. “Fine.”

“If you still want this tomorrow, I’m all in, but not like that. Don’t ‘fine’ me.”

Neil followed Brian to the back door. 

There was something massively fucked up with Neil’s head. There was a perfectly decent person who wouldn’t hurt him just because he could, who wouldn’t shy away from his scars, who wouldn’t let Neil kiss him because he was drunk. 

Neil was supposed to want to be with someone like that. 

Instead, his mind hung on a stupid college memory of a boy who wasn’t real, an idea, something that Neil projected onto Andrew. 

But it was all a lie and Neil would be damned if he didn’t stop this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, Brian isn't an utter piece of shit _because_ he was a Trojan, and the kid might have been a little messed up at one point BUT no Trojan can be a massive piece of shit. Nope.  
> But, please go ahead and hate him in the next chapter or two. 😂


	5. Ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? Cause I always do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***hate-smut warning***  
> I worked in Andrew's legendary line. You're welcome. 
> 
> SIDE NOTE: If you didn't sign up for smut, now would be a good time to stop reading this fic. Really.

Neil woke up with a few regrets. 

The events of last night slowly came to focus in his head and he buried his face in the pillow growling. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jeremy said. “Care to elaborate what that shitshow last night was about?”

“No.”

Jeremy hummed. “You need to talk to Brian.”

“I know,” Neil grunted into the pillow. 

“Come on. Up. He has a flight at noon, so I suggest you get up, find him and talk to him face to face.”

“I _know_.”

Now that Neil was sober, he couldn’t muffle the guilt flaring to life in his chest. What the hell was he thinking? Brian and he were friends. That was such a low move. He wanted to slap himself. 

“Want to talk about Andrew?”

Neil peeled himself from the mattress and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“No.”

Jeremy frowned. “Neil… Whatever is going on between you two, it’s getting worse. I know you. You don’t do things like that. You don’t use people to make yourself feel better.”

Neil dropped his head down. “I didn’t mean… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“He asked me what you told me about… you know, what happened between you in college. Andrew.”

Neil’s head snapped up. What the fuck did Andrew do that for? He knew exactly what had happened! 

“I don’t want to talk about Minyard. I’m going to shower and then I need to talk Brian.”

Jeremy was right about one thing. Neil didn’t use people to make himself better. He never had. He needed to fix things between Brian and him. He wasn’t like Andrew. Goddamn it. 

*

It had been a week since the fall banquet, and no incidents had happened since then. The conversation with Brian had been a lot easier than Neil expected, but then again, Brian always understood him. They were okay. That was all Neil needed to know. 

Today was the second event of Ramirez’s get-along plan. Neil and Andrew stood on both sides of a booth, signing thousands of autographs for fans and pointedly ignoring each other. 

It seemed like the people would never stop pouring in and lining in front of the booth. It wasn’t even a charity event this time. It was a sports Expo and booths with players of all kinds of sports were set all around the four-story building. Fans crowded the place, buying equipment, and the gear with the names of the players present was the first to go. 

A guy wearing Andrew’s Foxes shirt was next in line. 

He headed to Andrew’s side and stared at Neil the whole time. 

“You know, it’s probably the best thing that happened to Josten that you moved to the Falcons,” the man said, intentionally loud so Neil could hear every word. “It was probably a strategy. He couldn’t beat you so he got you on his team.”

Neil laughed and signed the shirt to the next person on his side of the booth. 

“Something funny?” The man said, staring at Neil. 

“You,” Neil deadpanned. 

“Everyone with half-decent memory remembers that year the Trojans won the Championship just because you knocked out the Foxes playing dirty. I don’t think—”

“Alright,” Andrew interrupted. “No need to do that. Thanks for the support. Next.”

Fucking fanatics. 

Neil barely made it to the end. It was all over a little after 10 PM. Neil climbed the stairs to the fourth floor where he’d left his jacket in the representatives’ room. The place was dead quiet. There was barely anyone left in the entire building. 

He almost collided with Andrew when he swung the door open. 

Andrew glared at him, and Neil couldn’t let it go. What the fan said burned in his stomach like living coal. That wasn’t why the Trojans had won. They had won because it was Jeremy’s last year as a captain and he’d pushed himself to his limits to make it happen. They had Jean Moreau, which helped, to say the least. Their backline was rock-solid. Jeremy had been at the top of his game, and Neil was the fastest thing on court. They had won because they deserved it. 

Fuck Andrew’s fans! 

“Is this what you tell your fans? That we won in college because I played dirty?” Neil spit the words like venom. 

“You did.”

“I didn't! This isn’t why we won!”

Andrew snorted. “Calm down, junkie. I never said it was.”

“The fuck you didn’t. Your crazy fan-boy down there wouldn’t come up with theories like that all by himself if you didn’t plant the seeds for it.”

Andrew’s cheeks flushed. “You might have not won because of that, but you did play dirty, and you fucking know it. I don’t have to tell people anything, they’re not blind. You’ve been going ballistic on me on every single game we’ve played against each other.”

Neil slammed the door behind him. Well, fuck. This wasn’t a conversation that he wanted out of this room. 

“You almost broke my rib once. Remember that? Your fifth year in PSU? What was that for? Fairplay at its finest?”

“I was doing my job keeping the goals out. At least I didn’t slam you with a fucking Exy racquet.”

Neil laughed. It was a bitter low sound he didn’t mean to let out. “I’m not going to apologize for that. You deserved it.”

“For what, not letting you score on me? You’re pathetic, Josten. You’re such a fucking child. Grow the fuck up!”

“Says the man who superglued my door lock.”

“You don’t wanna go there.”

Neil’s blood rushed to his head. God, he hated this fucking asshole. “Is this your goddamn problem? That one time I hit you with a racquet? Is that it?” His voice was higher than he intended. “Because I had a pretty fucking good reason to do that, you absolute soulless dick!”

Andrew’s face was deadly furious. Color rose in his cheeks, his eyes were dark and hazy. He pushed Neil until his back pressed against the door. 

“Don’t call me that! You of all people will not call me that, you fucking hypocrite!”

Neil huffed a bitter laugh. “What, soulless? Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt that black hole of a heart you’ve got there?”

Andrew’s face was pure rage and it was inches from Neil’s. Damn it, Andrew was really going to punch him this time. 

🖤

Andrew knew he should back off. But the hypocrisy of it all pushed him over the edge. How dared Neil call _him_ soulless? He didn’t play with Neil’s feelings to win a fucking game. He didn’t pretend with him. He didn’t kiss Neil to mess with his head and then slammed a fucking racquet at his ribs. 

Neil did that. And the little shit dared call _him_ soulless. 

“You’re a piece of shit, Josten.”

Neil breathed hard beneath Andrew’s hands where he had them pressing the redhead into the door. 

“You’re not high on my people-I-tolerate list either. Get off me. You should’ve never come to my team. What d’you do that shit for? What did you think it would be like? We’d shake hands and be BFFs? Get your head out of your ass, Minyard!”

Andrew leaned in. “It has _nothing_ to do with you. You’re irrelevant. You mean nothing. Don’t make the mistake to think your existence is a factor in my decisions.”

“Or maybe you just get off on messing with me.” Neil stared Andrew dead in the eyes and hissed through his teeth, “I hate you. I fucking hate you. Get your hands off me.”

Andrew wanted to step back and leave. Slam the door behind him and never think of Neil again. But his head played tricks on him. Neil’s voice was angry and behind that rage, there was something else. Something dark. Pain. And Andrew didn’t understand. 

The silence stretched between them for an endless moment. Neil’s Adam’s apple bobbed in rhythm with his heart, frantic and quick like a rabbit. His face was flushed and the muscles in his jaw twitched. He looked at Andrew with those bottomless blue eyes and it was like he was digging a path to his soul. The air was charged with something else. The rage between them shifting, laced with _something else_. Something _more_. 

Andrew hated the little liar for it. He _hated_ him. He was going to tell him just that, but the words that came out of his mouth, instead, were, “Yes or no?”

He slid his thumb along Neil’s bottom lip and the redhead whined, “Yes.”

Shit. 

Andrew kissed him. It was rough and harsh and desperate. It was years of wanting him and hating him all merged into that kiss. Andrew buried his hands in Neil’s hair like he’d wanted to do for so long and Neil moaned against his mouth. The sound traveled down Andrew’s spine. 

Neil pressed his hand on the back of Andrew’s neck and pulled him closer, and fuck, this was everything Andrew wanted. Neil’s tongue was in his mouth, hot and searching and driving him crazy. Andrew bit his bottom lip, drawing another moan out of Neil. Shit, the redhead really shouldn’t be making those sounds, not if Andrew wanted to get out of this room in one piece. 

He kissed Neil until his lips bruised, and somewhere in the middle of it all, the kiss shifted. Neil’s breath hitched. His fingers were uncharacteristically gentle at the back of Andrew’s neck, brushing softly through his hair. It was soft and sweet, like it had been that night back in California. 

Andrew’s brain shortcircuited. He pulled back, wishing he hadn't looked at Neil’s face. It was wrecked and soft and breathless. Fuck, he was gorgeous. 

Andrew let go of him. “This changes nothing. I still hate your fucking guts.”

“Yeah, me too,” Neil said, but it lacked his usual heat. It was shaky and short of breath. 

Andrew pushed him away from the door and left before he did something dumb like kissing him again. It was just one kiss. A one-time thing. He just needed to get it out of his head and move on. That was what it was all about. Nothing more. 

🖤

Neil couldn’t stop pacing his apartment. He didn’t know what to do with himself. That was Andrew for fuck’s sake! The same person who wanted to fuck him to prove a point to a few assholes in college. And yet, it had felt like… 

He couldn’t think straight. The heat of Andrew’s lips on his own was Neil’s special kind of addiction. He wanted him—fuck—so badly, he did. 

A knock on the door stopped him dead in his tracks. It wasn’t like Jeremy hadn’t come by without calling before, but it was unlikely. There was one person who could knock on Neil’s door at 11 PM. 

He ran a hand through his hair, forced a deep breath and opened the door. 

“What?”

“Can I come in?” Andrew said. His face was set in his usual bored expression but his eyes glinted with a soft fire Neil hadn’t seen before. 

He swallowed hard. “Depends. Is this is a murder plan?”

Andrew glared. 

“Fine.” Neil stepped aside and let him in. “What do you wa—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish when Andrew slammed him against the wall. His lips hovered over Neil’s. 

“This doesn’t mean anything. This is just me getting you out of my fucking system, understand?”

Neil nodded, his mind swimming in a haze. 

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil said, but it sounded like a whine and he hated himself for the desperation reeking in his voice. 

Andrew crashed their lips together. His tongue was in Neil’s mouth and Neil was out of breath. For a few minutes, he let himself just feel it. He let himself get lost in the rough drag of Andrew’s lips against his own. 

Then Andrew’s fingers brushed the skin under the hem of Neil’s shirt and he snapped back in the present. He caught Andrew’s wrists and pulled them away from his waist. 

“Over the shirt, asshole,” Neil mumbled. 

Andrew nodded and hauled him into another searing kiss. He spilled messy kisses on the side of Neil’s jaw, grazing his teeth along his skin. Neil thought he was going to die if he stopped. He was falling apart and desperately needed to get some control back. 

He kissed the side of Andrew’s neck. Years ago, the blond had melted at that touch. Now, he stifled a moan as Neil dragged his lips over the pulse point. He kissed and kissed and kissed, and Andrew’s breath hitched at every press of Neil’s tongue against his skin. Andrew let out a broken moan, caught Neil’s jaw and pushed his head back against the wall. 

“You said this doesn’t change anything,” Neil said. “You still hate me?”

Andrew whispered against his chin, “Every inch of you. This doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you.”

Neil gasped. “What?”

Andrew bit his bottom lip, drawing another quiet whine out of Neil. “I want to blow you. Yes or no, Neil?”

“Y-yes.”

Neil swallowed hard. It would be a blatant lie if he said he hadn’t fantasized about it. But thinking about it and watching Andrew drop down to his knees and pull his pants off was something entirely different. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Andrew said, and Neil was about to say ‘okay’ but the word transformed into a loud moan as Andrew wrapped his lips around his head. 

Neil had done this before. With Brian. It had been nice. 

But when it came to Andrew, _nice_ wasn’t a word that came even close. Andrew’s tongue dragged along Neil’s length and made slow wet circles around his head, pressing over the slit. Then he took him all in and Neil forgot how to do anything but moan shamelessly. 

His hands curled into fists and Neil pressed them against the wall behind him. Andrew hummed around him. Neil bit his lip, refusing to let Andrew’s name escape his mouth. He moaned, instead. And with every moan, Andrew did something to drag another one, and another one, and another one. Until Neil was a panting, breathless mess in his hands. 

Andrew wrapped his fingers around the base of Neil’s cock and took him down his throat. The blond let out a quiet stifled moan and it was all over for Neil. 

He gasped, shaking and weak in the knees, and Andrew sucked him off through his orgasm. Neil's nails had dug little crescents in his palms. Andrew rose up and caught his jaw. Neil put his hand on the back of Andrew’s neck and pulled his face closer. 

“You realize I just—”

“Fuck you,” Neil gritted out and kissed him. He could taste himself on Andrew's tongue and he didn't care one bit. His hand slipped down Andrew’s abs and caught on his belt. 

Andrew grabbed the hand and pushed it against the wall. He pulled back. “You’re not touching me. Not now, not ever. This isn’t going to happen again.”

And then he was gone. 

But it did happen again two days after. And again. And again. And every time it was the same. Andrew barely walked into Neil’s apartment and took him apart with his mouth or his hands and then left. Every time he’d said the same thing. _This doesn’t change anything. I still hate you._ And it was okay, because Neil hated him, too. 

*

It was Saturday night and Neil was delightfully drunk at Jeremy’s apartment. His head a mess and the reason for it kept saying he hated him and ‘ _this isn't going to happen again_ ’ until it did happen again. 

And Neil wanted. He wanted _more_. 

Objectively, he knew he should’ve never touched Andrew. He hadn’t forgotten what Andrew thought about him, how he saw him, as something scarred and broken, and yet, he wanted him so badly it never crossed his mind to say ‘no’ when Andrew asked the question. 

But he had to. He had to stop. 

Jeremy was right. This wasn’t healthy. And so Jeremy let him drink at his place until Neil had the guts to say it. Well, text it. 

**To: Andrew [22:34]**

_We should stop._

**Andrew [22:36]**

_Ok_

And that was it. It was a punch in the guts. Something vile and dark rose in Neil’s chest and he didn’t know he was crying until Jeremy held his head over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around him. 

He had another drink. And another drink. And another drink. In the end, all he remembered was begging Jeremy to take him home so he could cuddle with King on the floor, and so Jeremy did. 

The rest of the night blurred out. He remembered staring at his phone, at that dreaded ‘ok’ and the anger burning at his throat. Or maybe it was from swallowing tears, he couldn’t tell anymore. 

🖤

Andrew slept in fits. He’d thrown his phone against the wall last night when he received that text from Neil, and he couldn’t bring himself to get up and pick it up from the floor. He decided to guess the time instead. Maybe around 9 AM? Who the fuck cared? He planned to spend the day in bed with a bottle of whiskey and a bucket of ice cream. 

He’d slipped so far down the road there was no coming back. He’d known from that first night he knocked on Neil’s door that this was going to end eventually, it was just a temporary fix. It wasn’t a surprise that it did. 

But Andrew hadn’t anticipated those three words to knock the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t expected it to _hurt_. Kevin called it a hate-fuck. And maybe he was right. 

He was definitely right. That was all it was. A hate fuck. 

But he’d dreamt of Neil that night. It was a particularly disturbing dream because nothing in it implied this thing between them was a _hate-fuck_. In the dream, Neil ran his fingers through Andrew’s hair again and again, and he kissed him. And it was soft and sweet and then he sang a stupid song that sounded nothing like the original in his ear. _I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new_. That melted-honey voice sent shivers through his body. 

He woke up wanting to scratch Neil out of his skin. 

Finally, thirst won and Andrew dragged himself out of bed. He grabbed his phone from the floor on the way to the kitchen. Great. A crack on the screen. He poured himself a glass of water and unlocked the phone. His throat went bone-dry at the sight. 

It was all Neil. Incoherent, drunk texts and yet… 

**Pipe Dream [1:13]**

I hate u. U dont make sense. U never have. 

**Pipe Dream [1:19]**

Whyd u want this I dont get u Andrew??? U always hated me u hate my scars so wy the fuck did u even

**Pipe Dream [1:35]**

Guess u were rite b4

U know in college

About bein desperate i dont know

U wud’ve won that bet u know

I wish i never met u in college

What the actual fuck was that? Andrew’s brain froze. What bet? What the fuck was going on? He gulped the water, jumped in a pair of pants and bolted out of the door. 

He banged on Neil’s door for five minutes until the redhead opened it, looking like he was hit by a train. His face was wrecked, his eyes puffy, lashes rimmed pink. 

Shit. A lump grew in Andrew’s throat. 

He held the phone up to Neil’s face. “What the fuck is this?”

“I’m sorry. I was drunk.”

“Neil.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Me being right in college? A bet? What the hell are you on?”

“The… bet… with the guys that night?”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Neil blinked stupidly. 

“Can we talk inside?” Andrew ran a hand over his face.

Neil nodded and he followed him. 

Nothing after that night made sense, and finally, _finally_ , Andrew was getting a vague idea why.


	6. The nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

Neil stared at Andrew’s face. The bored expression cracked around the edges as the blond stood with his back against Neil’s door. 

“Why don’t you tell me your version of what happened in college?”

Neil raised an eyebrow. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He knew perfectly what he’d done in college. Was he going to play innocent with Neil now? 

“Are you serious?” Neil forced his voice into the most composed version he could muster, considering he’d drunk himself half-way to death last night. 

“Dead serious. Spill.”

“A little too young for such bad memory,” Neil muttered for the sole purpose of annoying Andrew. 

“Neil.”

“The bet you made with the guys before our first game, you absolute dick! Ring a bell?” Neil’s face heated. 

“Not even a little.”

“God, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

Andrew ran a hand over his face. Such a fucking actor. Honestly, he’d get an Oscar for this shit. 

“Just spell it out for me.”

“You told them you’d fuck me by the end of the Foxes’ stay because I was desperate and asking for it and no one would touch me because of the… of my… Why the fuck are you making me say it?” Neil’s voice cracked a little. 

Andrew stared blankly at him. “I’ve never said that.”

Neil was done. He was so fucking done with Andrew Minyard’s goddamn lies. It was a mistake, all of it. He should’ve never been so weak and let his heart decide for him. He should’ve never kissed Andrew again. He wanted to slap himself for every ‘yes’. 

“Funny. I’ve been a liar most of my life. What makes you think it’s a good idea to lie to a liar, Minyard?”

Andrew squinted his eyes. “You’re a complete idiot.”

“Get out of my apartment.”

And that was it. Quick, like ripping off a bandaid. It felt the slightest bit like closure and that was all Neil needed for now. 

🖤

Andrew could definitely move on from this. No problem at all. It was just a hook-up. He’d done it many times before and so what if it was Neil? He was no different from any other hook-up he’d had. 

He survived a week without dreaming of Neil. The night it happened, it hit him like a kick in the guts. It wasn’t a fluffy, soft dream like the one when Neil sang in his ear. It was hot and intense and intimate, and Andrew woke up covered in sweat with his dick painfully hard in his boxers. 

It wasn’t the first time he wished he could wipe his memory clean, but that wasn’t an option. The images wouldn’t fade. They were vivid and every detail was branded in Andrew’s mind like a scar. 

The dream had played on repeat in his head for days now. Sunday morning, Andrew lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, considering a cold shower. The goddamn scene flashed behind his eyes again. He wrapped his fingers around his erection and closed his eyes. He saw with perfect clarity dream-Neil’s face, inches from his own as Neil held himself up on his elbows above Andrew. A playful smirk and sparks in his eyes, and his teeth catching Andrew’s bottom lip. Andrew was naked, _completely_ naked, even his armbands were off. And Neil kissed every inch of him like he couldn’t get enough. 

Andrew’s breathing got heavier. Dream-Neil huffed a breath over his nipple and pressed his lips around it, making dream-Andrew’s whole body jerk at the jolt of pleasure. Real Andrew moaned at the vision and stroked himself harder. 

Dream-Neil kissed his way down, down, lower, and then his tongue licked a wide stripe along Andrew’s dick. He looked up, those goddamn eyes burning with want, and whispered, “Still yes, baby?”

And that was it. Andrew’s orgasm wiped out the vision. He barely managed to push his shirt up before he spilled over his stomach. 

Fucking Neil. God, how much he hated that goddamn asshole.

The problem was that now that Andrew had a taste of Neil, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About _him_. And the worst of it all was that it wasn’t just about the sex. It’s never been just about touching Neil. It was about the way he reacted to Andrew. It was about the hitched breaths and the way Neil bit his lip when Andrew’s hands were on him, the way he raked his fingers through Andrew’s hair like he was going to die if he let go, the sounds dripping out his mouth like honey. It was about how Andrew made him feel, how Neil made _Andrew_ feel when the redhead fell apart in his hands. 

So, fuck Neil. Fuck him for messing Andrew up like that. 

Andrew survived exactly six days after that keeping it all in until he broke down and sent Kevin a string of disturbing texts. On Saturday morning, Kevin stood at his doorstep with a box of donuts and a huge cup of caramel mocha. Extra foam. Well, alright, for all his flaws, Kevin did have his virtues. 

“Say the word, and I’ll have him killed.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. Get in.”

🖤

Neil sat on Jeremy’s couch hugging a stuffed duck when someone knocked on the door. Neil didn’t even move. He’d been in that space between wrecked and angry for days and he was completely drained out. His head was a mess. All he wanted was a good night of sleep. Just one night. Instead, whenever he drifted off, his fucked-up mind played moment after moment after moment with Andrew in the leading part in each of them. 

Andrew was a liar. A goddamn liar! Brian had told him about the bet, and there wasn’t a fiber in Neil’s body that doubted Brian. He wouldn’t lie to him like that. He trusted Brian. Andrew Minyard, on the other hand… not a fucking chance in hell. 

Jeremy threw a concerned look at Neil and opened the door. Kevin Day. Great. 

Kevin cupped Jeremy’s face, whispered something against his lips and kissed him. Neil looked away. 

“I didn’t know you have company, babe, I can go to Andrew’s and come back tomorrow?”

Jeremy pulled him in and shut the door behind him. “No. You can join our little pity party. I have margaritas and, sadly, drinking them alone.” 

Neil flipped him off teasingly and hugged the duck tighter. 

Kevin walked over and slumped down to the couch, while Jeremy dipped the glasses rims in salt. Neil didn’t look at him but he could feel Kevin’s glare on his face. 

“What?”

“What kind of game are you playing with Andrew?”

Neil snorted. “Oh, stand down, guard dog. I'm not the one playing games.”

“I have no idea how you lured Jeremy into being friends with you.”

Neil’s face heated up. “Listen, dick—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out, you both. What the hell is this about?” Jeremy put the glasses down and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Your boyfriend’s bitching about his BFF’s _feelings_ ,” Neil said in a mocking voice. 

“Neil.”

“You’re such a shit, Josten,” Kevin growled. 

“Kevin.”

“It’s not the best time to annoy me, Day. I’ll throw a knife at your head, I swear.”

“Neil!” Jeremy shrieked. He pulled a chair and sat by the coffee table, in the middle between Kevin and Neil. “My apartment is Switzerland, okay? I love you both but if you’re planning to be horrible to each other, I’ll kick you out until you grow up.”

“No, you’re not,” Neil and Kevin said at the same time. 

“Aw, now, that was adorable,” Jeremy purred. 

Kevin practically melted in his seat on the couch. Neil rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. You’re Switzerland. Can I continue being miserable and hug my duck now?” Neil buried his face in the plushie. 

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m confused.”

Jeremy sighed. “You and me both, love. They’re idiots, okay?”

“ _He_ ’s an idiot,” Neil muttered into the duck. 

“Hey!” Kevin threw a balled napkin at him. 

Jeremy moved on Neil’s couch and squeezed himself between the arm and Neil’s back. Neil leaned his head against his shoulder. “Neil, honestly, if you keep holding this in, your head’s going to explode. Probably. Want to tell me what happened?”

Neil glared at Kevin. “Not while he’s here.”

Kevin sighed. “I _know_ what happened, Josten. Andrew and I are friends, remember?”

Neil rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, and I’m on his side, for the record.”

Neil laughed. “Shocking.”

Jeremy wrapped an arm around him. “Neil.”

Neil growled against the stuffed duck. “Fine. You remember I told you something went wrong in college when we… Anyway. The thing was he made a bet with some guys on campus that he’d fuck me by the time they leave. Said I was desperate or whatever and I’d do it because no one else would want me with the scars and everything.”

Kevin choked on his drink. Jeremy drew a sharp breath. 

Kevin took a sip from his drink once he stopped coughing and cleared his throat. “There’s _no way in hell_ he would’ve done that.” 

“Yeah, well, he did.” 

“Look, Andrew would never—”

Neil’s head snapped up. “Don’t tell me what he would and wouldn’t do! I know he did it.”

Jeremy put his face in his hands and growled, “Switzerlaaaand. Please.”

“I want pizza,” Neil muttered and buried his head back into the stuffed duck. 

“Now, _that_ ’s a good idea,” Jeremy said. 

“With pineapple.”

“You’re ruining it.”

“On half.”

Jeremy rose up and went to search for his phone, leaving Kevin to stare at Neil like he’d never seen him before. Had Andrew lied to Kevin about it? Kevin was so sure, so convinced that Andrew Minyard was not capable of something like that. But Neil didn’t see a reason why not. He didn’t mean anything to Andrew. Not back then, not now, not ever. Neil was just a toy Andrew liked to play with. So yeah, he knew Andrew Minyard was capable of anything Neil thought about him and more. Kevin was just blinded by that quiet, broody charm, just like everyone else was.

🖤

When Kevin asked if the bet was true, Andrew had been pissed out of his mind. How’d dare he even consider… He’d nearly kicked Kevin out when he’d said it. 

But then Kevin said something that stuck with Andrew and wouldn’t let him sleep at night. Not that he did much before that. 

“He thinks you really did it, and I know you’d say it’s because he’s stupid but this isn’t it, Andrew. He said it almost like… like he heard you himself. And if you never said those things then… Look, if _I_ tell you I heard someone say shit about you, would they ever convince you they didn’t?”

Andrew had raised an eyebrow then, the pieces clicking together. “What are you saying? Jeremy?”

“Jeremy would never—”

“Oh, why, because he’s _that_ star-struck awesome?”

“It’s not Jeremy.”

“Josten doesn’t trust anyone else like—” Andrew had stopped. Because that wasn’t true. He did trust someone else. Andrew had heard the redhead talk about him. He’d seen him with the guy and he knew. 

Today, the Falcons played against the Chicago Lions, and Andrew wouldn’t take his eyes off Brian Walsh. On the court, right before the game started, Andrew walked over to Neil, laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to say, “Give them hell.”

Neil’s eyes grew wide with surprise but Andrew only looked at his face for a heartbeat before his gaze landed on Brian Walsh, who stood thirty feet from them. 

And, goddamn it, the look on his face...

It all made sense now. And Andrew knew Neil would never trust him, not when one of the only two people he’d trusted in his life had him convinced Andrew was a heartless monster. 

A little part of him never wanted Neil to find out what Walsh did. But it was a teeny-tiny part and Andrew wasn’t exactly famous for taking the high road. Every other cell of his body wanted to bury Walsh in a haunted forest. 

The Falcons won the game. Andrew played the whole game out of spite just so he can land the score to 10:0. Fuck Brian Walsh. 

🖤

It was 2 AM and Neil was bored. The Christmas banquet was the only one Neil liked, not just _tolerated_. He hadn’t celebrated Christmas for years and anything remotely close to decoration was out of the question while his mother and he had been on the run. That was why the heavily decorated hall for the Christmas banquet was like an amusement park to Neil. 

Jeremy danced with Kevin, and Neil sneaked away from the crowd to look at the Christmas tree decorations. Brian had left an hour ago and Neil wished he hadn’t. He could use a friend so he wouldn’t be that weird third wheel between Jeremy and Kevin. 

He’d had one drink for the whole night but something felt warm in his chest and he found himself staring at the shimmering crystal ornaments like he was a kid in a candy store. 

The light was dimmed out, the atmosphere turned into something soft and slightly sultry and it all reminded Neil too much of that night he met Andrew. Fuck. 

He found a quiet corner in the gloomier part of the hall and leaned against the wall. Andrew’s voice almost had him jump. 

“Are you hiding?”

Neil’s stomach clenched. “What do you care?”

Andrew walked closer. He smelled like smoke and whiskey. “Let’s say I do.”

“Fuck off, Andrew.”

Andrew ignored the bitterness in Neil’s voice entirely and stepped closer. As if on cue that fucking song was on again. Neil hated it. So goddamn much, he did. 

Andrew leaned in and whispered close to his hair, “Wanna dance?”

Neil swallowed thickly. “No.”

Andrew laughed. It was low and quiet and _soft_ , and it sent a shiver down Neil’s spine. Andrew stepped into Neil’s space and pressed his hand against the wall behind him, an inch from Neil’s head. 

“Not even to that song?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to steal a dance from you. That bad?”

Neil wanted to say no again. He wanted to tell Andrew to fuck off, to never talk to him again, never fucking _look_ at him again. 

Instead, he caught Andrew's hand and pressed it against his own shoulder. 

“Just this once,” Neil whispered. 

“Just this once.”

From this close, the smell of whiskey was even stronger. Andrew was definitely drunk. But right at this moment, Neil didn’t care. Andrew put one hand on his waist and swayed him gently with the slow beat. 

His other hand slid up Neil’s shoulder and buried between his curls. Andrew played with Neil’s hair, his fingers featherlight on the back of his head. 

Neil was dizzy. The suffocating want that burned in his chest every time Andrew was so close to him crawled under his skin now. Andrew’s breath brushed the side of Neil’s neck. His hand on Neil’s waist holding tighter. 

“I still hate you. Probably,” Andrew whispered and kissed his neck. 

Neil’s voice was a wreck. “‘Ndrew… What are you doing? We’re not… We…”

“I know. You hate me. I hate you. Getting you out of my system. You remember the drill.” 

A jolt of pain shot right through Neil’s rib cage at that. He pushed Andrew away. “No. Fuck off, Andrew! Just… don’t touch me. You’re not going to play with me like that. Not again.”

And with that, he stormed off to the back door. He couldn’t look at Andrew’s face for another fucking second. Did he think Neil was a goddamn toy? Did he just want him to… to fucking what? Prove that he could have him? 

Well, he fucking could, the asshole should be proud of himself now and leave him the hell alone. 

Andrew slammed the door open a minute after Neil and stood in front of him, his face unreadable. 

“Jesus! What the fuck do you want from me?” Neil was shouting now. 

“I want to talk.”

“Yeah? Talk to me when you’re sober.”

Andrew snorted. “I can hold my liquor unlike… some people.”

“I can’t. I can’t do this. Just say what you want to say and leave me alone.”

Andrew stepped so impossibly close to Neil, he wanted to melt into his warmth. 

“Okay, this is what I want to say.” Andrew cradled his chin. “I need you to know that I never said those things about you to anyone. I never made a bet with anyone. I kissed you because I wanted to. Because you got under my skin. Because I’d never met anyone like you. I know you have no reason to believe that, but here’s the thing Neil…” Andrew licked his lips. “Walsh lied.”

Neil felt the anger build up in his stomach. It took him by a storm, rising to his chest, claiming his entire body, filling him with heat. He knocked Andrew’s hand away from his face. 

“You’re pathetic,” Neil hissed. 

“Think about it.”

“I got nothing to think about. That’s low even for you.”

Neil slipped back inside the hall, grabbed his coat, and left before he let Andrew Minyard drag him into yet another one of his wicked games.


End file.
